


Kiss and Tell

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch ficiton
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-04-12 02:40:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4462271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: I love your writing . You could seriously make something out of it. I also have a promt : Root and Shaw being in an exclisive relationship and "coming out" to The team about it plus everyones reaction .</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss and Tell

"Wait- what- hap- pened?" Shaw calls out, syllables chopped to the rhythm of her fists as they sail into a man's abdomen. He hunches over, stumbling back with a cough, and Shaw bends her knees, arms drawn up in a defensive position. He dives at her, hands curled into tight balls and a sneer on his face; Shaw blocks the blows with her forearms before bringing her hands to his shoulders. In one swift movement, Shaw throws her knee up, and it connects forcefully to the bottom of his rib cage. He wheezes, his six foot form crumpling down to five; still, he brings his hands to a weak defense before his face.

"W-... -ould t-...  _em_!" Root Groves's voice comes to her in a muffled blur; she only catches a few intelligible sounds past her heavy breath and the enraged screeching of the man before her. He gets a hit that connects to her jaw, and she can feel her neck scream as it snaps upwards, and her eyes momentarily fizz.

* * *

 

Anger boils her blood like water in Hell, and her jaw clenches stiffly. Her feet bounce as the adrenaline kicks in, and she spits a small spray of blood to the ground.  _C'mon, c'mon_ , Shaw thinks to herself, mentally egging him on,  _is that all you've got?_ Her eyes must portray the taunt, for his countenance changes to inflamed outrage. He throws himself at her- all two hundred and fifty pounds.

Shaw snakes around him in a flash, wrapping a toned arm around his meaty neck, and yanking back with the force of a mac truck. His fingers pry at the fabric of her trench coat and he tosses his body about in struggle, but Shaw drags him to the ground, teeth grinding in the effort. He squirms under her grasp, body thrashing and legs kicking in spasmodic movements.

Slowly, his legs turn to lead, barely movable, and his grasp at Shaw withers to nothing. With a last, finishing yank back, Shaw releases him, slithering out from under his dirty jacket and kneels, steadying her breaths. In the top corner of her vision, she sees an outstretched hand with fingernails dressed in black. She looks up.

At once, she's greeted by Root's smile. It's clever and crooked with dazzling white teeth and a sharp-tongued quip yearning to break past them. Shaw's eyes focus outward as they take in Root's entire face, the sunlight being mostly eclipsed by her stance, but still creating a halo over her head and setting her hair on fire. Her chocolate eyes are illuminated with a satisfied thrill, although Shaw can see the dark purple of a bruise forming just below the left. She has a nosebleed, somewhat contained, but her nose is off at a slightly crooked angle. However, even with her roughed up demeanor, Shaw has to admit she still looks just as good.

Taking the hand up, Shaw comes to a nonchalant slouch at Root's side, taking in the two burly men that lie on the ground, bodies reeking of sweat and excessive testosterone. Smoothing down her pants and giving her ponytail a tightening yank, Shaw places her hands on her hips.

"So what were you saying?" Shaw asks, doing a final sweep of the scene before resting her gaze on Root. Root's eyes flare up joyously, not seeming to notice an ounce of pain.

"We should tell the team about us." Shaw can't help the laugh the bubbles up from her stomach, filling the early afternoon air with the mellifluous sound. When she sees Root's expression hasn't changed, she silences the chuckle into a humored smirk.

" _Really_?" Shaw asks, minutely skeptical. Things had been going fine as far as she was concerned, and couldn't fathom why coming out to their group would be necessary. Yet, with one look at Root, it seemed more valuable than oxygen.

"Yeah, it's been a while; and I think... they should know." There is a set determination at the end of the statement, and Shaw lets out a small sigh, eyes rolling in good nature. Root's body radiates the hope of agreement, like a small kid waiting to be told they could run free.

"Fine," Shaw answers at last in defeat, trying to hide the warmth she feels at seeing Root's face light. "But  _you're_  telling them. Not me." Root's eyes narrow at once, a slight wince in her features as her nose crinkles.

"That defeats the purpose of ' _we_  should'," Root points out, and Shaw crosses her arms, facing Root with a stubborn cunning in her onyx eyes.

" _We_  should, but  _you_  are," she replies, keeping a straight face, all to Root's fluster. Shaw forces the small smile she feels to remain hidden from her face, in the mood to annoy.

"Sameen," Root says, trying to find something more to say. Her eyes flash in small pain, as the more she moves the more her nose becomes irritated, but she opens her mouth, ready to persist. However, Shaw beats her to it.

"We'll talk about it in the car," she says with a definitive air, finally allowing a cool smile to land lopsided on her lips. Her eyes soften as she leans into Root, kissing her lightly. She can feel all the swirling thoughts melt from Root's head at the action, and slowly brings her right hand to Root's face. Her fingers delicately trace up her cheek and over until they are a hair width away from Root's nose.

A crunching noise bursts in their ears as Shaw swipes her hand across, Root's broken nose crackling back into place quickly. Root pulls back, eyes shot wide in surprise and pain as she brings a hand instantly to her nose. Shaw stays where she is a moment, not moving back as her eyes ease into fulfillment. She can see, in Root's gaze, the word  _'Ow'_ written in seven different languages and expressed in twenty different tones.

Shaw slinks back, coy smirk on her face to match devilish eyes. "It worked, didn't it?"

______\ If Your Number's Up /______

Root and Shaw walk into the subway station, greeted by the hum of yellow lights and silent talking from somewhere within. At the same time Shaw's eyes find John Reese, his land on her. He stands from his casual perch against Harold's desk, and- at the shift in his friend's attitude- he stops talking, turning in his chair at the two women. Shaw's eyes watch John as his gaze flickers between the two.

"Why's  _she_  so happy?" John asks Shaw, a coy smile in his voice. "She get to tase someone today?" Shaw rolls her eyes, all the while Root laughs, and Shaw begins forward for the subway cart. Needing to escape before Root could drag her out like a cat into the rain.

"Shaw!  _Hey_!" Shaw stops, closing her eyes and letting her hands curl into tight fists.  _So close_. Stiffly, Shaw turns back around, forcing her eyes open as she looks at Root with what she hopes is an oblivious-to-the-situation countenance; however, Root sees right through it with a humored smile. Shaw can feel John's gaze boring into the side of her head, but doesn't move. She's too focused on Root as they share a cryptic conversation in their eyes. Root widens hers, Shaw narrows them; Root's purposefully slide over to the boys, Shaw's stare at her blankly; Root's contract with seriousness, Shaw's roll. With a sigh, Shaw walks back over to her, allowing annoyance to radiate from her every movement. Even with this, Root's eccentric smile returns, knowing she's won, and Shaw's grudging distaste is nothing more than water on her skin.

Shaw bites her cheek, turning with a casual presence to John and Harold, who both study them curiously. She feels like she's on a stage, the audience laid out before her and waiting for the grand performance. John must sense Shaw's unease, for her gives her a light, humorous wave at her from the stands, and her eyes light with Hellish fury. From her side, she can feel Root's energy like static friction, the anticipation in her restless fingers like they are a second from the shock.

"Okay," Root starts, trying to calm her jittering nerves, but failing miserably as a robust grin breaks across her features. "Well, we have some... news."

"Don't tell me," John says with a sarcastic air. "You're getting hitched." At the words, Shaw's lip curls into a snarl. First for the ridiculousness of the statement; then, for the slight ounce of panic that spills into her veins.  _Don't give her any freaking ideas._

" _No_..." Root responds, a small, partially concealed chuckle in her answer. "But, we  _are_ , uh, together."

" _Together_?" Harold echoes in a slower voice, brow furrowing slightly.

"Together," Root confirms, a certainty in her voice that makes Shaw peer over at her. She feels a smile making its way to her muscles, but swallows it down.

"Really, Shaw?" John asks, a surprise in his tone. Her eyes narrow.

"Yes," Shaw replies, annoyance butchering her words. "Why." John gives an almost microscopic shrug of his shoulders, lip curling in a smirk at the corner.

"Didn't take you for the settling down type," he replies.

"I'm not  _settling_  anywhere," she hisses back, murder in her eyes. All at once, she can feel herself through with the situation. Her eyes become heavy, shoulders tired and muscles itching to escape. "I'm going to wash the blood out of the upholstery," she mutters to Root before brushing past her more harshly than intended. Root watches her escape, something like a guilty twinge in the back of her mind. However, with Harold's voice, the feeling escapes her entirely.

"Congratulations, Ms. Groves," he says, and upon looking back at him, Root sees a smile on his face and a glow in his eyes as he stands. John nods in agreement.

"The two of you will be good for each other," he tells her, and Root's attention turns to John.

"And you couldn't have said something like  _that_  to her because..?" She asks, laughing; he shrugs his shoulders.

"She can handle it," he responds, then checks his watch. "I gotta go," John informs them. "Detective Riley has a murder scene to get to." With a last, warm smile that tells Root all the things he can't say, he's gone. Leaving only Harold and herself in the terminal. With one look at him, her gaze goes down sheepishly, blush swirling into her cheeks and smile unable to be concealed.

"It's been a long time in the process," he says to her, voice echoing in the silence around.

Root nods.

"Worth the wait?" He asks, tone neutral but eyes predicting the answer.

Root nods.

She looks up then, finally gaining herself enough to not burst at the seems, and sees Harold's crooked smile and kind eyes directed at her. Then, a sigh escapes him.

"I have to go to the college; I have a seminar today," he informs her. "However, you are more than welcome to accompany me and tell me anything about it- if you'd like." Root's grin touches her ears and brightens her eyes as she heads towards the exit, meeting Harold there as he swipes up his briefcase.

Slipping her arm around his, she says, "I think you read my mind."

_____\ We'll Find You /_____

Shaw scrubs furiously at the car's back passenger seat, a light pink squishing out between the bubbles of soap as, little by little, the blood comes free.  _Next time we're just going to steal something with leather,_  she grumbles to herself, the soft material being a sharp stitch in her side. Still, in the farthest bay, Shaw cleans the black Lincoln diligently. Needing something to do.

 _I knew it was a bad idea_ , Shaw fumes to herself, slamming a rag into a bucket of water before starting again.  _I didn't want to be there. Hell, I didn't want to say anything._  She could still see the smug glint in John's eyes.  _Settle down my ass._

Her phone begins to buzz, and with a soapy hand, she answers. It connects straight to her earwig, and she barely has a moment to register the caller ID before a voice is rattling away in her ear.

"The Hell is  _this_?" He fumes, voice thick with a New York accent. "You and the nut-job are sleeping together, and I'm the  _last_  to know?"

"If it's any consolation, Lionel," Shaw replies in a bored tone, "the dog was asleep when Root broke the news." She pauses. "Wait, who told  _you_?" She demands.

"My  _partner_. The only one who ever  _includes_  me around here," he grumbles, and Shaw can feel her blood steaming through her skin. "You'd think I  _earned_  my way in this group; but I'm  _always_  the last link."

"Did you call me to complain, or do you have something important to say," Shaw deadpans, ditching the cleaning supplies as she leans against the car door. There is silence on the line a moment, then Fusco starts up.

"Damn," he whistles out. "How long has it been?" Shaw feels a hostile defensiveness tightening her muscles.  _Go ask Root, she loves talking about it._

"A couple weeks," Shaw replies mechanically.

"I didn't know you were into crazy."

" _Excuse_  me?" Shaw asks indignantly, crossing her arms with steam at her ears.

"Yeah," he replies, not seeming to acknowledge her tone. "I always thought you'd be the loner; didn't realize you two had a uh,  _thing_."

"What does it matter," she spits.

"Doesn't," he replies simply. "I just never knew Root was... not kidding." Shaw snorts.

"Join the club."

"Can I tell you somethin'?" He questions, although not waiting for an answer as he hushes his tone secretively. "I always thought I  _might_  have a chance."

Shaw is quiet a moment, then- as what he says sinks in- she can't help but laugh heartily.

" _What_?" He asks defensively, feathers ruffled. Shaw laughs a moment more before simmering down; yet, there is still an amused smirk on her lips.

"You had about as much of a  _chance_  as a long tailed cat in a room of  _rocking chairs,_ " she informs him, stifling another round of laughter as she hears disgruntled grumbles from him across the line. Soon enough, though, they die out, and the two sit on the line.

"You happy?" He asks, all annoyance and joking aside. Shaw gives an internal groan; talking about emotions being the last thing she wanted, let alone with Lionel. _But, if it has to be anyone, why not him._

"Yeah," she replies at last, eyes looking around as if she's expecting anyone else to be listening in. From a couple yards off, Shaw can see a man with a lanyard and thick mustache stalking her way, eyes livid as he sees her, not cleaning, with a line of other cars all waiting to enter the establishment’s four bays. Shaw kicks the bucket over, allowing the contents to spill into the drain as she closes the back door. Taking one last look at his angry black eyes and curled hand wagging menacingly in the air, Shaw slips fluidly into the driver's seat, bringing the key to the ignition.

"Good luck," Fusco tells her, and a prickle of curiosity comes to her skin as the engine revs to life.

"With what?" She asks, met by his breathy chuckle.

"Don't know if you've  _noticed_ , but you're girlfriend's a psycho killer." Shaw rolls her eyes, checking her rearview mirror. She sees the angry man only feet away, and pulls her car into drive, replying only,

"Qu'est-ce que c'est."


End file.
